


Thirty Minutes

by justbygrace



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-20 18:36:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9505865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justbygrace/pseuds/justbygrace
Summary: A dimension-jumping Rose meets the Ninth Doctor.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt was: "nine x post-dd rose (saying, in some random universe, that they met)"

Thirty minutes was the way Rose Tyler measured life these days. Thirty minutes to survive. Thirty minutes to get answers. Thirty minutes to keep her head down. Thirty minutes to hold on for dear life. Thirty minutes between when her feet touched down and when the beeping of the device she wore around her neck informed her she could leave and be onto the next thirty minutes. 

The second her feet touched down on the latest jump, she knew something was wrong. It wasn't anything she could put her finger on, just a prickling of the hairs on the back of her neck - the ones that were fine-tuned after years of travel with the Doctor and even more years of travel without him. She swiveled her head slowly, careful not to attract undue attention, but everything seemed fine. Tight, packed buildings, the hum of car engines and the thick smell of food and exhaust informed her she was in a city and the overarching shadow that hit the sky told her which one.

Paris. Her least favorite city on the planet (and any other, come to that), and the one international trip she refused to take. It was silly, no way was she likely to run into the Madame in this modern-day city, but it still rankled her. Her and the Doctor had had it out - several times and in several positions, both with words and without them - and she should be fine. Logically she was fine. But emotionally, emotionally was a different story. And, sides of cliffs or smack in the midst of a revolution aside, she hated the dimension cannon for this landing more than any other. 

But she still had thirty minutes - twenty-eight now - and she wasn't going to spend it jammed between a dumpster and a fence. As she walked she couldn't shake the tingling that told her that things still weren't right and it wasn't just the bad memories of this city. And so she followed it, deliberately set her nose to the danger and headed straight for it, despite the ever-louder warnings that something was definitely not right.

It took all her strength to turn the last corner, there was an almost tangible force field in the air and it was not interested in her coming any closer. She was prepared for all manner of danger, from daleks to cybermen, plague outbreak to cat nuns; she was not prepared for the broad leather back, daft ears, and buzzed head of her first Doctor.

He was facing away from her, seated at a tiny cafe table, feet propped on a wrought iron table to the distinct annoyance of the proper Parisians around him. His head was tilted as he studied a menu with more deliberation than she had ever seen him give anything and she took a moment to be thankful he wasn't facing her, knowing the emotions were running plainly across her face. 

(Twenty minutes to go.)

She knew she should leave, almost wanted to leave even, but her body wouldn't obey and her brain had shorted out and this was a bad idea, it really was and she needed to go, she really did. Instead her feet moved towards him, slowly, deliberately, and her body dropped into the seat opposite him without so much as a by your leave from either of them.

He looked up, surveyed her with a raised eyebrow, but with little trace of surprise. "Hello," he said eventually when it became apparent that she wasn't going to speak.

She managed a wave, unsure of what to say that wasn't going to bring a parade of reapers down on both of them.

"You look familiar." He tilted his head, studying her, learning her. She held her breath and he released his. "You remind me of my ship."

"Do I?" Her voice squeaked dangerously and his lips twitched.

"You show little surprise to hear that I have a ship in twentieth century Paris," the Doctor said. "When are you from anyway?"

"Around," she replied. She wanted to tell him everything, had to bite her tongue to avoid doing so.

"Someone who talks less than I do. That's a rarity." His tone was light, but there was a darkness in his eyes she'd nearly forgotten about.

(Fifteen minutes. Halfway there.)

Rose smiled and shrugged and frowned and probably looked like a jerking marionette. He grinned, the familiar wide one that almost catapulted her over the table and into his arms.

"Tell me your name?" It was a question, but phrased like she might not answer.

She didn't, shaking her head at him. "I can't, I'm sorry."

"Ahh." He studied her some more, almost appeared to be memorizing her. "Thought it was something like that."

"Something like what?" The question slipped out before she gave it permission.

"Someone I will know. Pretty well, apparently." His look was appraising and she felt herself blush under the scrutiny. "Only..." he broke off.

"Only?" she prompted.

"You know the TARDIS too?" he asked, tilting his head again.

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak, the force of everything she wasn't saying was starting to choke her. 

"She knows you too. Loves you, I'd wager." He paused, a thoughtful look in his eyes. "You have the same eyes."

Rose couldn't stop the shiver that ran down her backbone, the memories of burning and forever and gold and howling wolves in her mind. 

(Nine minutes.)

"I've loved her too. Still do," she said carefully. I love you too. So much. Too much.

"She remembers you. Or will remember you. It's complicated." He waved his hand expansively.

"Give her my best," she half-whispered.

"Wish I could let you see her, but..." He shook his head.

She needed to change the subject. "Ever been to London? Henriks?" That wasn't what she had been planning to say at all.

"London, yes. Henriks, no." The Doctor told her. "Any reason why I should?"

Rose shrugged. It wasn't her place to say, she shouldn't say, it would mess with timelines. She opened her mouth. "I hear 2005 is a good year." She shut it again, a sinking feeling that the TARDIS was taking full advantage of their connection filling her.

"Any other bits of advice?" he asked, his ice-blue eyes twinkling. Twinkling! 

She shook her head, making certain to keep her mouth tightly shut. 

(Three and a half minutes.)

"I'll keep that in mind," the Doctor said. "Been looking for trouble lately, me. I'd guess there's trouble to be had there?" 

She nodded, swiftly, sharply. She wanted to beg him to go, to leave this place and head straight for Henriks, London, 2005, but she was afraid to open her mouth, afraid in case the TARDIS decided to change history a little too much. 

Her inner clock ticked louder, the seconds until she needed to be ready to go echoing through her mind. She didn't want to be here when that happened, didn't want him to hear the dimension cannon and get excited about it, to question and cajole and demand until she told him everything, until she followed him to the TARDIS and barricaded the doors. 

Instead she stood and rounded the table deliberately. For a long moment (fifteen seconds, to be precise) she stood there, staring down at him, memorizing his wide forehead, sharp blue eyes, his beautiful, daft, precious face, before stooping down and pressing her lips to his, swiftly, chastely. When she pulled back his eyes were wide, shock, awe, surprise, happiness, and just the tiniest bit of fear warring for top place.

"Lose the guidebook," she whispered.

Then she turned and ran, heading for the alleyway and a place to hide. Sixty seconds. Fifty. Thirty-seven. Twenty. She skidded around the corner and ducked down behind a dumpster, alone beside a scrawny cat. Ten seconds. Nine. She brushed away the tears. Seven. Six. Deep breath in. Four. Three. Breath out. One. The familiar beeping sounded and she slammed her hand down on the button.

And then there was a rush of sound and light and motion and she landed on her knees on a crowded street, the faint sound of a siren in the distance. T-thirty minutes to go.


End file.
